


Guessing Games

by missema



Series: The Dragon From High Rock [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Backstory, Cyrodiil, F/M, High Rock, Nobility, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd always thought of herself as a Dibellan, until the day Akatosh reveals his claim on her very soul.</p><p>A prophetic dream leads Corrine Dragonborn to Skyrim to embrace her destiny, but finding her way is never as simple as dreams make it seem.  A trained thief, she finds her place and love among the Guild, but those marked by the Divines never have easy lives.  </p><p>Custom backstory for F!Breton thief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There is no one that I've loved more than Delvin Mallory, as unlikely as it seems to the outside observer. He is a thief, as am I, ans in fact it was thieving that brought us together. That said, he is more honorable than any other person I have ever known, myself included, despite his prowess at our shared profession. Before I get to Delvin, or even to Skyrim I must explain who I am.

I am Corinne Dragonborn, or at least that is what that people of Skyrim call me now. My name truly is Corrine, but I had another surname long ago. I shed it as I grew and I eventually rid myself of all the vestiges of my former life among the noble houses of High Rock where I grew up. My past doesn't come up often now, save for Delvin, who is constantly asking me about it. Someday I may tell him more than a little at a time, but for now he is content with the snatches I reveal. It's a game to us, he teased it out of me and I give him enough to make him hungry for more, but all of the best games are played in that way. Most other people are more than willing to forgo questions about my far past to talk about the things I have done in Skyrim, and my fame as the Dragonborn. I have lied about many things, including my past, but in this I am truthful - I am the Dragonborn.

But I have no wish to continue lying, because this is my story and it shall be known as the truest of truths about me. It is fitting for me to start at the beginning, though my young life was of little note. I'm the seventh daughter of a seventh son, a myth of birth order that holds power amongst my people, the Bretons. My father is a Duke with little power of his own, although through the marriages of my sisters he gained quite a bit. I grew up trained to catch the eye of a properly placed noble, but my skills were geared towards a more subtle art that was just as popular in the Court of High Rock.

In my youth, I became a thief. Long before I came into my maturity, I had found my innate skill in thievery. I stole for the sheer joy of stealing, and even when I got caught, hardly any punishment came by way. My father, The Duke as I called him, was a softhearted man with his children, at least when we weren't old enough to cause a scandal or be married off. As a child, I stole the trifles that all young people steal - shiny, important things, toys I that I wanted that belonged to others. The older I got, the less stealing the little things interested me. The Duke already had me awash in jewels and I had plenty of money at my disposal, though I couldn't claim any of it as rightfully mine. I grew bored with picking pockets and sneaking about listening for secrets. I had a mind to move onto other things, though I had no idea what other endeavors might interest me, when I caught the eye of an old courtesan called Piper, and she showed me how to steal things worth having.

As you might imagine, the things Piper instructed me in were some of the oldest and most refined of arts. To The Duke's horror, I dallied amongst the Court, trading my favor for whatever interested me, be it attention or finery, or sometimes more base rewards. The Duke didn't have much to worry about - virginity is little prized in High Rock, where bed hopping is almost a sport. Despite my interests in physical pleasure, I was choosy in my partnerships, though they tended to be intense affairs. Truly, he had no cause to worry, for Piper's instructions weren't all carnal - I learned a great deal more about what was expected of me in society from her than I did from my drunkard of a mother. I am not being hard on the woman at all - she was made to have one great love and it came in a bottle. She had once been beautiful, and thankfully I inherited that from her but not her love of wine.

It was under Piper's gaze that I became beautiful. Not to seem immodest, but I was always a pretty child. A precocious smile got me out of many early predicaments, and got me into many more later. My skin was honey colored and smooth, and has stayed taut over the years, unlike so many of the pale, splotchy asses of Bretons. The Duke had my darker coloring as well, but there was no question that I favored my mother. Her lush curves never grew too heavy, not even after childbirth, and her face would still be bright and gorgeous if she didn't have the puffy, swollen look of a drunk. I have her full lips and doe eyes, the wide, round face that seems ageless and innocent to others. My dark skin made and hair made me seem like a bit of exotica to many, and a few whispered about Redguard lineage in The Duke's family. I have no idea if it is true or speculation.

Through it all, I always fell back on my old habit of deft hands and skill in turning out a pocket. Life changed for me one day at a party, when my wandering digits were caught by hands quicker than my own, and I was hauled up to see to local lordling. It was on that day I realized the folly that one so often glosses over in youth - you can steal from some very wrong people. When I got caught and The Duke couldn't talk my way out of it, I thought it was the end, but the Lord took a liking and made me his mistress. His name is unimportant, because he's now dead and gone, and in the end he was quite good to me. Back then, I was scared, because he could have asked anything of me at all, and I would have no choice but to accept or be thrown in jail - which I was more scared of than anything he might throw at me. He wasn't a brutal man, but he had peculiar tastes, some of which aligned with my own, so our time together wasn't a hardship for me. It was however, difficult for my family, even though mistresses are fairly common in High Rock and throughout Bretony.

My life was lavish then, and I played in the courts well. I cannot lie and say I didn't like after I got over my initial fear - I was young and not as naive as I pretended, but still plenty foolish. He dressed me as his doll at times, took me to parties and ravaged me at nights. I glittered under his attentions and wealth and once he discovered my association with Piper, he used me as a weapon, with my consent. Nothing seemed out of my reach. There was prestige to be had, and everyone that was anyone played the game of intrigue in High Rock. There are still matriarchs and noblemen that make me shiver when I think back on them - both with pleasure and fear.

As for my benefactor, he was generous and not without some discretion. For a long while, it wasn't widely known whom I consorted with, saving his family some of the sting for some time. I regret most that I wasn't brave enough to tell his daughter, who was a decade my junior, but regarded me as sort of an older sister or cousin until she found out. She was sullen as a preteen, and my affair with her father didn't help her attitudes at all. Nevertheless, I was content in a way for a while.

When he fell ill, there was no place for me there, but I had grown tired of the role and his hold over me. It had been four years since I'd been set upon the court, and I was now three and twenty years old. Once his son took control of the house I was given a bequest and asked to please leave the family alone, so The Duke arranged for me to visit relatives in Cyrodiil. The trip was a welcome one, the gossamer-thin veneer of glamour over the courtly life had worn off for me, and I was seeing some of the uglier parts of it without varnish. The people whom I'd once danced with and made polite banter were less enthralled with my company once I lost my benefactor and failed to marry in the months after. It seems that my misadventures had gone from delightfully scandalous to downright unseemly as I got older.

My time in the Imperial City did not go well at all. I was used to Bretons, to magical duels and tempestuous affairs of the heart. The Imperials were distant and cold to me, for all their talk of being cosmopolitan. My relatives were uptight and hardly deserving to be called Bretons, for they had adopted the most rigid of dispositions, and I was never able to charm them. These people were distant cousins of my mother, but lacked any of her better attributes. 

When I finally did find a place to welcome me in Cyrodiil, my relations used their piddling influence to make me unwelcome within the College of Whispers. In retaliation, I slept with their eldest son, who had grown quite smitten with me during my visit, but lacked the nerve to do anything but stammer in my presence. We were found out almost immediately, because he was a weakling at heart, and his mother knew it. A man older than I broke into tears under his mother's gaze and called me a temptress who had seduced him against his will. The story reshaped to cast me as some wanton harlot that came to tear the family asunder, though that was so far from the truth as to be laughable. 

Her impotent husband tried to force himself on me when I refused his offer to exchange sex for my place in the house. He softened like butter under the sun when his trousers were down and I laughed scathingly at his dysfunction. When he raised a hand to my face to strike the laughter from it, I shocked him with lightning so fierce it set fire to every hair on his body. I still relish that image in my mind.

That night I readied my belongings to leave and thankfully sent my most precious items back to The Duke in High Rock, where I think they remain. Divines know I don't truly care for some old trinkets, but it was better to send them to The Duke than to let that disgusting branch of the family have them. At the earliest morning light I left, glad to finally be winding my out of Cyrodiil, and the guard stopped me. My family had called the guard to say I'd stolen my own belongings from them. Luckily I carried so little that they let me go by, but I knew that they saw me as suspect. As awful as my relations were, they had some influence because of our name. 

At first I wondered why they hadn't reported my use of magic on their head of household, my so-called uncle. But I realized that my spell had left scorch marks around his naked pubis and other sundry parts, and he would have to expose himself to implicate me, and reveal that I had also seen his nudity. So they painted me a thief instead, a title which I had earned in High Rock, but found there was never anything worth taking in Cyrodiil. Even if I had taken anything from them, I wouldn't be so foolish as to try to depart without changing it for gold.

I evaded the guard and headed towards Skyrim, but got caught with Ulfric Stormcloak on the way in. We nearly died at Helgen, first because of the Legion and then by Alduin's interruption. The recollection still makes fear trill throughout my body, but in the intervening time I have come to understand my role in history and in turn the role of the dragons. That day, seeing a dragon come back to life like the old tales - it scared me more than the headsman's axe. He came there for me, to kill me and I was as certain of it then as I am now when I know it for fact.

Skyrim is my home now, even after the events in Helgen.


	2. Chapter 2

For all that I spoke of my past, I hardly mentioned the sights. Of my time in Cyrodiil, I remember the people more than the place, but I can talk in great detail of High Rock and its many splendors. But I'll get to that in time. First I want to speak ob why I went to Skyrim, when I could have gone to nearly anywhere in Tamriel. Skyrim is so full of harshness and strife that few remember to appreciate the vastness of its beauty. By that I don't simply mean the scenic vistas of snowcapped mountains or the old castles in Windhelm or Solitude, though they are lovely. The Nords, for all their strangeness to foreigners and unshakable honor, they make Skyrim truly livable, though I didn't have them in mind much when I set my sights to their land.

If it must be known, then I shall say it plainly: I went to Skyrim because I had a dream that led me there. I knew that was where my destiny lay, though I cannot rightly recall much of the dream. A dream such as that isn't to be told anyway, it is far too personal.

My people are great believers in the power of dream prophecy. Perhaps it is linked to our gifts of magic and the mix of that power from our elven ancestors and the Nedic blood that runs through us. I've found that the Nords often have such dreams as well, so perhaps it can be traced to a far-back common lineage. I know not why we Bretons put such stock in dreams, only that we do and we are seldom wrong. The great twisting branches of fate are ever obscured at their roots, but it is folly to ignore the glimpses offered to us by the Divines.

Whatever caused my dream-vision, I woke up knowing that my next move was to be to Skyrim. At the time, I was freshly arrived in Cyrodiil, which I had yet to explore. There was no cause for me to think to move on right away, especially since I had just endured a great journey from High Rock. Had I known what kind of disaster my time in Cyrodiil was to be, I might have gotten up in the early days and decided to move right along. As it was I didn't, content as I was to take my time and explore my new surroundings.

What swayed me to expedite my plans to go to Skyrim was a talk with a priestess of Mara, of all things. During the most tense times with my relations, I went for walks around the city. The Imperial City is a beautiful place, even if parts of it are still in disrepair from the Aldmeri sacking of the city. The outskirts have swelled with people in the time since, and everyone from the Emperor's Council to the unlearned live around the area. The White-Gold Tower replete with Moth Priests and scholars and all manner of servants of the Emperor sit in the middle of the city. It is a glorious sight, the tall spire soaring straight overhead like a magnificent beacon.

The city stretches out from the tower, out to the fringes of the island that sits in Lake Rumare. Beyond the lake, the shores are packed with people, an extension of the city that wasn't intended to be there, but now exists to house those too poor to live in the city proper. The poverty attracts many caring souls, as it did the priestess of Mara who aided me by chance.

My relatives were clear enough in their dislike for me that I could see the end of my visit would be nearing. It vexed me so - I didn't want to be an outcast in a strange place, but it had become my role. There was nothing about Cyrodiil that was like High Rock, none of the intrigues of Daggerfall, and devoid of the passions of Wayrest. Within me, my heart ached for High Rock, for the life that had once been so heady I could hardly think back on it without a rush of emotion. I missed being pursued and desired, but mostly of being accepted. Imperial life paled in comparison. Still, I did enjoy the study of magic, and my dismissal from the College of Whispers had dampened my spirits.

"Are you well, child of Mara?" A voice asked as I walked listlessly down a street. I had stopped paying attention long ago, and hadn't noticed my departure from my usual route. There was no possible way to get lost in the city though, so it didn't alarm me at all.

At her words, I held up a hand. I was not Mara's, but not so stupid as to refuse any of the gods. "I am..." I didn't know how to finish the sentence. I wanted to be truthful, but I wasn't sure how I felt at the moment. My answer startled me with the bluntness of it, but it was honest. "I am alone, priestess." I answered after a pause.

"But you do not wish to be." She murmured, nodding. "I understand when a heart is wanting."

Again I raised my hand, because Mara was the goddess of love, and at the time equated her with the solemn romantic love between two who wish to be wed. There was no such person in my life, and I did not think I wanted one, though I did not want to disrespect Lady Mara in any way. The priestess however, understood my hesitation.

"I can see Dibella's mark on you as if it were stamped on your face, but you are still loved by the goddess Mara, whose infinite love can encompass us all." She said softly. Her face was older and lined somewhat, but she still had the striking Imperial features that made her a handsome contrast to my rounded, soft beauty. "Walk with me." She said.

Dibella is my deity, as surely as the priestess had said it. I worshiped most frequently at her Temples, and studied there from time to time. In my young life I had been taught some of the arts, my painting was basic but I loved color, my singing and lute playing were good, but ultimately forgettable. Piper had been the first to unearth my gifts, but since discovering them, I had been most eager to invoke my blessing. Dibella's true gift to me lay behind locked gates where eyes couldn't reach, in strongboxes full of jewels and bedroom chambers. My heart was full of tempestuous passions and wants, the need to be desired and pursued. Mara's gift of unwavering love and devotion sounded tiresome to my flighty heart.

I took her arm and we strolled in silence, walking around the circular park where nobles so often sat and gossiped. Her presence by my side was comforting, and I began to feel lightened just by her touch. It crossed my mind that it had been her intent to heal with her silent presence when she spoke again. 

"You've had a true dream, have you not?" She asked.

On her arm, I started, but she calmed me with a pat to my arm. "Yes, when I first arrived here." I said, though I hadn't thought much on it since then. My own unhappiness had demanded much of my attention. "It was a vision of blood and snow at first, because of a war of ideals. The hot fiery breath of a dragon filled the air. But later there was deep happiness in my soul, and autumnal leaves falling around me in the night air."

"Was that all?" The priestess asked.

"I think so." I said softly, straining to think back on it. "But I got the notion that it was the future, at least the scenes before my eyes had yet to come to pass when I saw them."

"There is war in Skyrim now." She said. "Perhaps this is your time. The Sons of Skyrim have taken up arms at the command of their leader and taken his name. They fight for independence from the Empire so they can worship their lord Talos once again."

"You are remarkably well informed." I said. glancing at her sidelong. She laughed, her face shining with mirth. The priestess had once been beautiful, I was sure of it now. I wondered if she were ever married. More than likely, as she served Mara and her servants were nearly always blessed with love and companionship, should they want it.

"So would you be if you counseled as many members of the Imperial Legion as I do. So many walk into our Temple seeking love and relief from the realities of their work, it would be shameful of me not to keep up with the events governing their lives. It impacts all of us, but weighs most heavily on those who will be in the fighting. The Empire will not let Skyrim go softly."

"Then perhaps it is time for me to go there, though I assume there have been no reports of dragons." I said, talking more to myself than to her. Dragons I would surely have heard about on my own. They had been banished from Tamriel so long ago, many thought them to be purely Nord myth.

At that, she shuddered. "I pray that we never have those kinds of reports, my child."

We walked for a short while longer, but then some pilgrims wanted her blessing and I let the woman go. Had I time to see her before I made my way to Skyrim, I would have thanked her. Sometimes even the truth is difficult to see without assistance. 

Our conversation echoed in my mind some days later, as I led my distant cousin to his own bed. I knew in my heart that this action would likely begin an affair destined to end badly, but I was swayed by the weakness of my own body. He and I, his name is of no importance now, were mostly strangers. We had a weak thread of family, his mother was my mother's cousin by marriage, so no common blood flowed between us. I think The Duke had been paid to force me far away from High Rock as possible, and he couldn't bear to send me to Elsweyr or past the elven borders, so Cyrodiil became my destination and he sought out any connection possible.

As a lover, he was fairly skilled, though I could tell he lacked experience. His mother was domineering and cold, and his father weak in mind and spirit, so I counted any experienced he'd managed to get as an act of willful defiance on his part. Even if it had come from the between the paid thighs of a whore, it was likely one of the few choices made without his mother's consent.

Within his lustful gaze, I sought to reaffirm my life. I wanted to return to my happy state for just a short time, though I had thought it to be longer than the space of my climax. There's no real point in retelling what I've already told, that our coupling hastened an end to my time in Cyrodiil.

Skyrim had pointed me to its borders more than once, and now I was being forced out of my temporary place in Cyrodiil. As I left, I realized it had been nearly two years that I'd suffered there, and I refused to ever endure such again. Whatever war was waging in Skyrim, it was to be a place of solace and freedom for me, so I swore to myself as I traveled out of the Imperial City. I would return to my happiness there, no matter what obstacles befell me.

Little did I know that I would be sorely tested on this point.


	3. Chapter 3

The easiest path to Skyrim from Cyrodiil goes past Bruma and on through the town of Helgen. Though the border between the two places is long, there are mountains that block the way to Falkreath and the path to Riften is heavily guarded. Riften is a major trading hub between Cyrodiil and Morrowind, and thusly the border near there is watched much more closely than near Helgen. It was truly the easiest route for me to go through Helgen as well, since it was more or less directly north of the Imperial City. Though I had no idea how long the reach of my relatives were, I didn't want to chance it in a city full of guards.

There were more than a few travelers on the road between the two cities and I more often than not was able to ride in merchant caravans or within a group. Outside of Bruma, however, I fell ill and stayed two days at an inn while the merchant family I'd been with went along ahead. When I was over my brief bit of sickness, which I later found out was rockjoint from fighting off a wolf that attacked us, I had no choice but to move on. 

Rockjoint is fairly common and just required a little healing and rest, but I didn't want to delay the plans of the merchant family. They kept their own schedule, and though I rather liked traveling with them and their playful two children, I didn't want to hold them unnecessarily. After a priest healed me I wished them goodbye, saying that I would seek them out in Skyrim, if I had the chance. They planned to go as far as Solitude, trading along the way.

In any case, I might have enjoyed Bruma a little more had I not been so eager to be well and leave the borders of Cyrodiil. As a city, it is like a mix of Nord culture and Imperial, though the rugged terrain is more like that of Skyrim than the mild climate of the heart of Cyrodiil. I found little to dislike there, with its beautiful wood buildings inlaid with Nordic carvings. Had I been minded to stay, I would have considered it a more an adequate introduction to the Nords and their way of life. But my heart had suffered too well in Cyrodiil and needed to leave its borders.

The inn was a small place, but boasted no end to the amount of travelers that came through the doors. The fire always burned and there was more ale and mead for sale than the customary red wines. Many types of people were inside, local Nords and Imperials, along with some Dunmer and a few Orcs composed the clientele. The smell of warm hay, dirt and cooking stew always filled the inn, no matter the time of day or night. It did a brisk business, as most border towns inns must, and I didn't want for company after the merchant family left.

One might expect that it was a Khajiit that was my undoing, or a fellow Breton - but no, it was a Dunmer who laid his charms upon me. 

"You look very lonely, my lady." He said to me one evening. It was after my first day of rest and I had ventured down to the first floor of the inn for some warm food - pottage and warm cider of decent quality - enough to be a relief from the cold foods and dried meat I'd packed.

"I might well be." I answered. "And I'm appreciative of fine company." I said giving him a sly smile.

He laughed at that, a bright and true sound that rang through the room and momentarily stilled the bards fingers as they passed over the lute. It was just the space of a breath, but his crimson eyes connected with mine, and I felt our fates intertwine. The noise picked up readily enough again, and he introduced himself to me as Swythen, though I hardly think that was his real name. It mattered not, for my eyes were tuned more to the lean body and beautiful slate skin. 

It had been a very long time since I'd been appreciated carnally, and I was hungry for the attention. As we sat together, his hand drifted over mine, thumb rubbing a soft trail across my palm. He smelled of ash and sweet plum wine.

I confessed too much to him as I ate - he bought me spiced wine to warm me and I spoke of my exile from my home and touched on my recent illness. Half truths and unintentionally admissions tumbled from me in a daze of sickness and loneliness - I was uncharacteristically loquacious in his presence. I found myself saying more to him than I had to anyone save the priestess of Mara I'd met in the Imperial City. The real boon was not in the promise of sex, but rather the delight of having a real conversation, with the guise of a sympathetic and intimate ear after such a long period of depending solely on myself for company. Of course, had I not intended to sleep with him, I doubt I would have been so forthcoming. 

All the while I was conscious of his movements, closer to me, a hand on my thigh, his head cocked towards mine. Swythen kissed my hand, as if i were still a proper lady, and I traced the veins along his muscled forearm. We flirted, boots nudging under the table, the wine bottle growing dangerously empty as heat grew between us. Perhaps it was his intent to seduce me, but I was no idle party in our quickened dance, with my hands sweeping his dark hair off his brow, sitting on the edge of my chair to be as close to him as I could get. 

I learned little of him, though I can say that he was close to 150 years old, or so he said. More was told by his actions than the few details he offered up of himself. He moved like one that was familiar with spell weaving, though that's hardly a surprise with a Dunmer. Swythen was quick and lithe, but had an easy, cocksure smile that unfurled frequently across his angular, handsome face.

In the end, we wobbled together up the stairs to my room, unsteady with drink and distracted by each other. Once there he laughed as we undressed, me easing of my robes and letting them crumple to the ground and he unbuckling the leather armor to reveal the hard muscle of his form. I remember a scar running crosswise down his chest, an obviously old but dire wound, healed over. My fingers followed the raised skin to its terminus and back up again, and met his eyes.

"Swythen." I said his name just to hear it aloud and he tilted my chin up to his face. There wasn't much height difference between us, Breton and Dunmer, but he was still taller. My eyes must have asked a question my mouth did not because he answered.

"Anything you want, my dear."

And so he gave me. He was exceptionally talented, and I remember the encounter with no malice, even considering the aftermath. Much is hazy as I try to recall it, spice wine and tiredness clouding my senses, but I remember soft kisses and sweet words, nimble fingers that teased while his mouth distracted. We weren't gentle as lovers, but neither was he uncaring or harsh. Perhaps it was his many years as compared to my relative inexperience, but he was as fulfilling as the cup of coffee after a multi-course meal, and I didn't want for more. When we fell asleep, I was quite sated, and he gave me a last kiss before curling in next to me. 

I hadn't expected to find him there when I awoke, but he wasn't the only thing that was missing in the morning. Swythen had taken it all. He left a note for me, which was nearly the only thing left in the room.

"So sorry. You were wonderful.  
-S"

I crumpled it into a tiny ball and threw it into the fire, watching the flames lick it into ash. It wasn't anger but pragmatism that made me do so, I had to report my losses to the innkeeper, and I didn't want them to think I had a hand in it. Better the truth - that I was taken advantage of - than a suspicious Nord wondering about collusion.

Swythen didn't limit himself to my belongings. It seems that he made away with much of the gold in the till as well. The proprietor insisted that he didn't run "that kind of place", but had little to give me for the loss of my robes and coin purse. He offered food and a cloak to go over the roughspun tunic that was now the showpiece of my wardrobe. 

Even with these setbacks the road to Helgen was not hard, even on foot, but I did so sorely miss being in a wagon once the wind picked up. My blood is thin, warmed by the waters off the shore of Daggerfall, the sands Hammerfell blow dry, hot gales into Wayrest that were more comfortable than this biting, blustery cold coming from the mountains. Whenever it was too cold, I put my mind back to think of the time I spent in Stros M'Kai with my benefactor, a month on the lush tropical island with temperatures so warm I thought I might melt and it was custom to take midday naps to avoid the worst of the heat. Would that I could have had The Duke send me there instead of Cyrodiil.

But Skyrim was my choice - my dream and destiny and I would not forsake it, no matter the weather. There was so precious little in my life that had been wholly my choice until then, the thought of it lent me stubborn determination in reaching the place. I had no idea what I would do once there - visit the cities I'd heard about, though I planned on staying well away from Markarth. Every Breton knows about the Reachmen and their Forsworn. I would call them sentimental fools, but if I did, I would be condemning all my people. There is scarce a hill in High Rock that someone hasn't claimed as their own 'kingdom' and I was a noble only so far as Bretons acknowledged it, since I don't rightly know if I have any noble blood at all in me. My people like their titles and claims, and will defend them to the death. Still, I had no wish to be counted as kin to the Reachmen or anger the Nords that ruled Markarth. 

"Halt!" a voice said in the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "Stay where you are, Stormcloak."

I opened my mouth to protest, but couldn't find any words. His sword was drawn and pointed at my throat - they weren't willing to let anyone pass. My hands acted of their own accord and began the fire spell that had served me so well until that moment. 

And then all was blackness.


	4. Chapter 4

I am afraid of death. So many people are when faced with it, but I was before Helgen. I cannot even write of Helgen here, save for to say that I survived it when so many did not. Even now, I can feel the horrible fires burning too close to me, feel the binds that held my wrists and kept me from being able to escape on my own. The stench of burned flesh and scorched earth fill my nose even from the memory. It was beyond anything I had endured until that point - I was no warrior back then. The nightmares that still plague me, I know that nearly every soul that got away from Helgen has them as well. 

Strange that I've faced so much, yet that day can summon so much panic in my soul. Ice water sluices through me whenever I think on it, let alone speak about that day. Not that many people ask me, most have the good sense not to once they find out that I survived Helgen.

There is something I must confess, after I went to Riverwood I did go on to Whiterun and send word of the dragons. And I did go right back into danger and risk my life in Bleak Falls Barrow. But once done with that task and the ensuing dragon attack at the Western Watchtower, I ignored the summons of the Greybeards, no matter how revered they might be to Jarl Balgruuf. 

At the time, it was simply too much to ask, even for the Jarl of Whiterun. I wanted nothing more to do with dragons and mythical dragonstones and the like. Shock had changed my perspective on everything, and I fled in fear from the uncertainty of the Greybeards and anything they might ask me to undertake. Climbing their 7,000 steps didn't seem like a pleasure trip, and I wanted no more to do with dragons, civil wars and mythical destinies. I was a fool perhaps, but there are many such fools when pressures mount too high.

Instead, I got in the carriage and went to Falkreath, my mind already in Hammerfell and away from Skyrim and its damned dragons. Exhausted and scared, I slept the entire bumpy carriage ride, save for the beginning when I was plotting a course home. Surely The Duke would allow me back, and I would make offerings to the gods and throw myself at their mercy. A miserable existence in Daggerfall could at least afford some familiarity, which was more than my miserable existence in Skyrim had at that moment. 

Upon arrival, I was at least better rested, if not calmed, and thought plainly about trying to get home with no money. It would be nearly impossible, but there were always errands and things to be done in towns. Even before I had properly dismounted, I could see the guards talking and people going about their business under the dreary grey sky. From somewhere in the distance, the sound of a hammer hitting an anvil mirrored the rhythm of my heart and I felt slightly better. There were people here, and at the very least, a decent meal and a bed. Ambition perked my heart up from where it lay, somewhere near the axle of the carriage. But when I walked about Falkreath, I had no mind to do anything other than move on. The carriage had seemed all too eager to leave, and once I saw the massive cemetery, so was I. 

Unless I wanted to drag myself over the border again on weary feet, I was stuck in Falkreath. I decided to make the best of it - at least after getting myself a room and some food and drink.

I spent two days sleeping off and on and getting to know the town, talking to the people and getting my wits together. It was just as bad as it seemed at first glance, but yet it wasn't. Skyrim, I later found, was like that in a good number of places. The people made the place something more than it was, whether it was a city made of stone or perched on the edge of the sea in on a wintry bluff. Nords had heart.

When I asked about for work to be done in Falkreath, there was wood chopping and a few errands, but was mostly directed to talk to the Jarl. Jarl Siddgeir was younger than I expected, but suitably arrogant. He would have been at home in High Rock, of that I was certain. There was nothing I was more suited to do than soothe nobles, but being so new and without many resources, I could only be deferential. I promised to take care of a problem he had with bandits, and was sent on my way.

The problem was, I didn't think I could do it.

Until coming to Skyrim, I had scarcely been in any battle, let alone fighting dragons. I'd gotten a few supplies in Whiterun, an axe from the Jarl and had ditched the armor I got in Helgen for something a little sturdier, but I felt the deficit of my knowledge. Life in Skyrim needed either a trade or an ability to fight, sometimes both. This was an all new type of environment, one that I hadn't been raised to navigate. Whether it was snobbery or just plain ignorance in my upbringing, I don't know, but no one ever spoke much of Skyrim, unless it was about particular Nords themselves. No hint of what life there was like, other than frigid temperatures.

Spells were my strongest weapon, and they could be learned from books, if I could find the right ones. Again, I circled back to my lack of money or connections to call upon, and how it impaired me. Out of desperation, I went to the smithy, and met a man named Lod, and tried to pick up as much about his trade as I could with my limited resourced. 

"Have you ever used a forge before?" He asked me kindly.

"No, but I'm willing to learn if you will show me." I said. I had hoped earnestness would hold me in better stead than flirtation. Last time I flirted with someone, they made off with everything I had left to my name. "I can pay." I added, though I truly couldn't. I suspected that he knew I had nothing much in the way of gold, and he waved away my purse as if it were annoying him.

"I can show you. Put your money away, lass, there's no need for that. Pay attention and practice and it will come easier." He said. Lod's voice had the quality of the best teachers in my life, patient and understanding, but a little stern.

For the rest of my days, I will be indebted to Lod. He showed me how to tan leather and work it. I learned how to properly use a forge and craft basic items, and how to refine those I already owned. He did this all because he knew that I needed help, and he could give it to me, not at all for any gain. If this was how the people of Skyrim were, Bretons had a lot to learn about them, though I knew not all of them could match his incredible kindness.

But I had a bounty yet to complete for the Jarl. The bandits proved a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. The rest of my time in Falkreath was not much different from the beginning, I earned coin and praise from the Jarl for dealing with his bandits, learned smithing and ran small errands for the people of the hold while staying at the inn. At one time such work would have been beneath me, but here I welcomed it. The humility of the villagers was a refreshing change from the scheming and posturing so common in Cyrodiil and my homeland. Sometimes Lod and I would dine together, but I think that was a measure of his kindness once again, rather than any real affection for me.

When I became Thane of the hold, the second hold where I held such a title in Skyrim, for whatever it was worth, I knew it was time to move on. The sleepy grave town held little to interest me besides the road to Hammerfell and I had since recommitted myself to staying. Staying in Skyrim was no real hardship, though I was still shaken by the thought of dragons. But since Whiterun I'd lived in their tavern, listening to the songs and stories of the Nords, learning about the history of the Dragonborns. There was much pride in the voices of those that told me the tales, and I began to be soothed by their awed stories of boldness, glory and honor. It would not hurt me to go further and find out if I truly were Dragonborn, or simply a fool who benefited from the confluence of right time, right place.

Bolund at the mill reluctantly told me more about the lay of the land in Skyrim, all while berating me for being a 'provincial'. Once I'd gathered my things I set myself on a course towards Riften, a town that by its very nature drew my curiosity and was fortunately, well on my way to the mountains where the Greybeards lived. 

It is an odd thing to have to have a destiny where the outside influence is obvious. People often refer to such things as helping hands or some sort of guidance, but it's always a nudge or a timely intervention, not anything like my experience. If it was a helping hand, it was balled into a fist and guided with all the gentility of a punch. 

Such instances of interference seem more common amongst those who become priests, but I had one as well. There were the marks of so many upon me, during my walk to Riften I began to wonder if I had ever been truly in control of my life, or was I always subject to the whims and wishes of the Divines. It is a foolish question, since I do believe in my own will and fate, and therefore no answer would ever come and satisfy, but it a question we must all ask ourselves from time to time. 

I made it to Riften relatively unscathed and with a little more in the way of resources, since I'd fought a fair few beasts and men on the way. There aren't many places like The Rift, and I have to say that the majesty of the environment wasn't lost on me. The leaves formed a golden carpet on the path flecked with greens, reds and brown that made me feel as though I'd entered a particularly rich painting. The weather was warm without humidity, and I walked past the guard towers toward the smell of sea water and the town gates. Already I was eagerly anticipating the commerce and people that I would see, my heart glad that this place didn't look a damn sight like Falkreath.

That was when the dragon decided to attack.


	5. Chapter 5

Most of the cities in Skyrim have walls, I guess because there are so few proper cities. It wasn't luck that saved me there, but the guards that patrolled those walls. Riften's guards were there to help me take down the dragon that circled above me, just outside the gates to the city. I was careful not to use my magic, it was too unskilled and unpredictable, and I focused on using my bow instead to hit the large target flying overhead. The guards had the same idea, at least the ones that could shoot.

There were other people outside the gates as well and none had a problem fighting, if they were able. The horsemaster was swinging a war axe at the beast. Once the dragon grounded itself, I realized it was only for the express purpose of blasting me in the face with flame. Surreptitiously, I did a bit of healing magic on myself, because the dragon seemed intent on hurting me. The guards, onlookers and I hacked away at the scaly beast as best we could, but it took off once again, blowing smoke and flame from its mouth as it circled away from our swords and arrows.

This was a fight of attrition, of twenty people against one dragon, fighting for their lives. We shot and hacked, and once I even let forth my own dragon shout, though it was weak in comparison to whatever words this dragon was hitting me with. I was knocked back a few times, and though it hurts my pride to admit it, I would likely have died without the help of the others. If what the Jarl in Whiterun said was true, this was my destiny, to answer the call and learn to master the tongue of dragons. Sadly, I didn't think the dragons would grow to love me as I mastered their ancient tongue and magical shouts.

After a beastly battle that went on for too long, the dragon went down. The second it stopped fighting the cheering started, the guards clapping and whooping at their victory and their continued lives. I felt completely drained, as if all the weariness from my long trek from Falkreath had finally caught up with me. But around me, people celebrated and I gave in to their relieved merriment. They deserved to be proud of themselves, I thought, and when I looked around I could see no bodies of fallen guards or innocents - another reason to cheer.

Before I could add my own voice to the jubilation, the soul of the dragon rose out the body that we'd just felled and I absorbed it into my own essence. I don't know rightly how to describe the phenomenon in words, but it is the most incredible feeling. Threads of amber gold sweep through me from the deceased dragon and fill me with something between magic and strength. The guards fell silent as it happened, watching me with intense curiosity. I think more than a few of them thought that I might take up my blade against them, but most were simply in awe. They said so when I began to move again, searching the carcass of the dragon for valuables. No one else came close to me while I did it, they just kept watching with awe-struck looks on their faces.

Silence reigned. No one spoke even as the magic wore off, and the amber haze that had surrounded me faded into nothingness. Not one word was uttered even as I searched the dragon, which had disintegrated somewhat, and took a few salvagable objects and bits of bone and dragonskin. I knew enough from my time with Lod to know what parts a smith would find valuable.

"You took its very soul." A whisper parted the crowd, and on the back of it came murmurs. Everyone looked around at me, and my hackles raised. 

But where I was expecting suspicion, I found little. Most of the faces around me were awed, though dirty and scarred from the fight. The people around me were started talking loudly about dragonborns, Greybeards, Tiber Septim and a whole host of other Nord lore and tales that I hadn't heard before. It relieved me in no small amount. 

My time in Cyrodiil had taught me to expect suspicion and duplicity first, and false friendliness and avarice after that. The guards nearest patted me on the shoulder as I passed, but no one really spoke to me. All around they preferred to speak about me rather than ask questions. That was fine really, since I desperately wanted to get into the city and find a bed.

The guard at the door was not so impressed that he didn't try to shake me down for a bribe to enter the city, but I convinced him to let me in without one. Despite the dragon attack, there were plenty of people about and trade went on as usual in the market square. No one inside the walls seemed to have noticed anything amiss, which would undoubtedly please the guard-captain once they heard about the attack. There was no sense in making a panic.

I found out a lot of things in Riften. The city itself was comprised of a mixture of people, from wealthy merchants to the people that swept their floors. There was much wealth there, but also strife and poverty. The banging of steel on an anvil altered me to their blacksmith, and a finer forge I've never seen before. It burned with an almost unnatural heat, and it warmed the whole marketplace. 

A temple to Mara stood near the Jarl's Keep and I wondered at which held the most power in this land. The buildings were beautiful, large and stone, obviously Riften was more prosperous than the modest Falkreath. There was a feeling about the place that reminded me of Cyrodiil, and it was no doubt influenced somewhat by the port traffic and the Imperial tradeships that eased up and down the waterways. Instead of repelling me, it made it seem more familiar than any place I'd been in Skyrim so far, even Whiterun, which is very much like Bruma.

The air smelled like the forge and the fishery, of leaves and warmth. As I walked I found myself relaxing more, though I still felt taut and tired from my last battle. The inn was not hard to find and I wandered into it, stumbling over my own feet as I did.

I explain all of this about my first impressions of the city because it was on that day in Riften that I met the man who would change my life so irrevocably for the better, that I cannot fathom would my life might have been without his appearance that day.

"I might have a job for you, lass." Brynjolf said, once he'd come up and accused me of stealing all of my wealth.

I must say this, I had been wary of theft ever since my encounter with Swythen on the border. What I had taken since then was mostly off felled enemies, with only a little pinched from other pockets. The Duke had raised me a survivor, and while he once meant for me to thrive in thorny politics of Daggerfall, I had made it work in my way. Yes, I stole some of my wealth, but more of it had been won fairly. It wasn't my way to steal once and be done, it was far more efficient to keep the wealth coming with some sort of plan. Skyrim hadn't afforded me any opportunity for that, with dragons attacking and bandits jumping out from behind ruins.

But he didn't know that. All he could see was my light fingers apparently keeping me flush with cash. I stuck my nose in the air at his suggestion, but listened as he outlined his plan to frame a Dunmer merchant.

Once outside however, I purposely failed his assignment. Believe me, my hands itched to go pick a lock and plunder the spoils, but I felt ill at ease about this plan. We'd just met not an hour before, but then we were off to business already? It didn't seem right, and I began to wonder why I would simply do the bidding of a stranger when I could go right on stealing on my own.

My bungle didn't endear me to Brynjolf, who let the crowd go from his thrall as I hightailed it into the Temple of Mara. I went and touched the shrine, and talked to the priests. By the time I'd cleared by thoughts, the priestess had tasked me with an assignment to help some lovers and I was ready to confront Brynjolf. He'd asked me to help him before I even knew the lay of the land, and even an amateur doesn't do that! A sharp rebuke laced the tip of my tongue, but when I found him, we began yelling at the same time.

"You can't just go off..." He started.

"That was the worst... I can't believe you'd send me off with so little regard!" I sputtered and stopped to look up at him. Brynjolf, for all his charm and talk did look a little abashed. He sighed as I started to ramp up again and held up a hand to forestall me.

"My organization is having a run of bad luck. I still have a good feeling about you though, so if you can find us, that'll prove your worth." He said.

All I had to do was find them? Surely that couldn't be so hard, I thought to myself. The whole of the city had told me to avoid the Ratway, to stay away from the domain of the Thieves Guild. 

Let's just say that when I did make my way through the sewers, I all but stumbled into the Ragged Flagon. Flames and oil had burned my modest armor and some of my skin, though my magic had healed the worst of it. The whole of me smelled of sewer and blood, things that aren't at all endearing in any way, and it wasn't quite the first impression I would have liked to make. 

But I had found them, and in turn, they didn't bother me as I stood in the sanctuary of their Flagon and healed myself completely. Their bodyguard that seemed to have more than the usual amount of neck glared at me contemptuously, but said nothing.

"Oy, what have we here? Need a hand, darlin'? I'd be more than happy to give you whatever you want." A voice from behind the giant of a bodyguard spoke to me, and I ventured closer to meet the speaker.

That was how I met Delvin Mallory.


	6. Chapter 6

Whenever I am in a dicey situation or in doubt of myself, I tend to do what all nobles are born to do - fall back on hauteur. I can say that I am genuinely a snob in a great many ways, but it's also a useful trick to paint on the veneer of frosty noblewoman when I am out of my element. It works wonders in a number of situations, from dealings with merchants to covering up any speechlessness. So I straightened my spine, gave the man I now know as Delvin a chilly smile that made him chuckle and stalked over to Brynjolf, who'd already seen me.

He greeted me expansively, praising my ability to find their dank little haunt. It was no wonder most of Riften thought that they were no better than rats, their hideaway looked the part. The Ragged Flagon was definitely showing the ragged part of her name, filled with crates and shabby furniture, and every person within had the hang dog look of luck gone wrong. A chill crept through me, and I began to worry that I was allying myself with a losing faction. It wouldn't be the first time I had, but I was eager to start anew in Skyrim.

The Thieves Guild, for whatever reason they gave - and I heard many - was glad to have recruits. Or rather just a single recruit, because it was only I that was new to the place. The rest of them seemed content to sit in the shadows and bemoan their bad luck, before striking out on the occasional job. Brynjolf and his stall of ridiculous miracle cures seemed to be the biggest money maker they had, and his business was limping by, no matter what finery he wore. This guild needed help, but I wasn't sure I was the one to give it to them. True, I had light fingers and years of practice from Piper, but it would take more than a few tricks to bring this place back to glory. Still, I was here, and they wanted me. They wasted no time launching me towards their Guildmaster and getting me properly initiated.

Mercer Fray was the kind of man I'd met many times before, and they always wore out their welcome in a hurry. Perhaps it is because he and I shared Bretony in our blood, but I knew his type upon seeing him and was shocked that he was the Guildmaster. There were many such people like him in the courts of Daggerfall, treacherous and selfish to an extreme degree. My hackles raised even as we simply conversed with Brynjolf playing the eager puppy at our heels. Call it premonition, but I could feel something amiss within Frey right away, though I had little chance to think on it. Mercer launched me into a job that Vex had already failed, giving me little in the way of welcome. I was to be tested first before he'd waste pretty words on me.

I left to go and talk to Vex, but the bald man sitting at the table stopped me with a hand out as I went by.

"Nose still in the air, I see." He said to me, and I looked down at him.

"Was there a question in there, handsome?" I asked sweetly, sarcasm dripping off my words. Delvin laughed.

"I'm Delvin Mallory." He said, introducing himself to me. "And you're too pretty to be down in the Flagon."

"Patronizing. What a remarkable way to talk to someone. I'm all a-flutter." I said back, making him laugh. 

"You started it." He said fairly, shutting me up. When I didn't answer back, he gave me a grin. Despite my cool words, he did make my pulse race in a strange way. There was something about him that I quite liked, though I wasn't sure what it was exactly.

"Mercer got you on the job already?" He asked.

"Something like that. I'm supposed to be talking to Vex about some beekeeper's house." 

"Ah, Goldenglow. Shit, that's going to take some skill. I'll be interested to see how you do with this."

"So many votes of confidence already, it's almost like I'm back home." I said. He'd retracted his hand during our exchange, leaving the way clear and I went past him, brushing my hips against his arm as I did. 

I was almost to the little nook where Vex stood in front of some crates when Delvin called out to me. "Didn't catch your name, sweetheart."

"Didn't throw it." I said back to him and turned to Vex. She was smirking at me, not a true smile, but with a little less contempt than she had before. At least I thought so, until she opened her mouth.

"If you don't get your head in the game, you're going to get killed on your first job." She grumbled at him, before giving me the details of her encounter at the estate. It was going to be a challenge, but then again, none of these people had the advantage of Piper's training. I was rusty, but sure that I could handle it.

I spent the whole way to Goldenglow thinking about my little exchange with Delvin, until I could afford no more distractions. He made me grin like a schoolgirl, and I felt as silly as one for doing it. At least no one could see me. Had I been working as part of a team, they would have thought I had some better secret than a minor flirtation with a petty criminal.

The estate was like a fortress, as Vex had indicated. Guards were everywhere, and I couldn't believe all of this mess and security was just for honey. Mead must have been bigger business around these parts than I realized. Considering how cold Skyrim is in parts, I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised.

Nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught that came with that job. It seemed like the further I got into the estate, the more guards there were. Maven Black-Briar had better be paying handsomely for this job, because I had to employ a number of skills just to get through the place. Normally, I don't go in for killing people, but I did slit a throat or two to keep people quiet there. There were so many guards, any alarm would have brought them all down on me and wound up with my death. I like living far too much to let that happen.

It was no easy feat to finish the Goldenglow job, but I did it. When I came back after setting those little beehives on fire, the whole of the Flagon already knew of my success. Brynjolf was beaming from ear to ear as I made my way to him and you'd have thought he was a proud father by the way he was praising me. I must admit, it felt good. For the first time since leaving High Rock, I felt like I wasn't an outsider any longer, at least in that moment. 

"Welcome to the Thieves Guild, lass. We'll get Mercer to make it all official for you." Brynjolf said. 

Behind him, Delvin smiled at me. I couldn't help it, I smiled back at him.


End file.
